Given today's news about the Italian shipwreck, I thought it might be an appropriate time to tell the tale of my great-grandfather's 1878 shipwreck on a tiny remote island in the Philippines, Maragat Island. Today this island is for sale with an eye to developing a pleasant resort, but the news reminds us that not so long ago one ran a certain risk in reaching remote, lonely and beautiful parts of the world by sea.
I imagined this tale after receiving the historical notes from the maritime museum in Liverpool. It is one possible scenario. Another possibility is a coal fire in the hold from the rocking of the ship, or simply running aground as has happened off the Italian coast. Unless I pursue this in more detail we may never know. Seafaring has always been hazardous.
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His name was John. He must have been a strong young man. Handsome. Vigorous. At 22 he was already an Able Seaman, having been on ships from around 12 or 13. He knew the sails. The rigging. He knew how the canvas swelled in fair winds and in foul.
He hailed from a city where ships’ bells could be heard through the rainy mist at night, and where ships’ masts towered above the shops that lined the streets near the docks, rocking slightly back and forth at their moorings.
He was out of all that now. The sea and sky before him was blue. The coastline bright white. John could see palms swaying now in the warm breeze along those beaches. He had been on this ship, with her lofty name and loftier yardarms, since December of the year before, his Master trading for coal at ports throughout the warm seas – Calcutta, New South Wales and so many exotic places . The wet chill of his home town worked its way into a man’s bones, into his very hammock. But all that was behind him now. Here he could work his muscles, shirtless, his arms bronzed by the sun. It was June now, and downright hot. Except for the steady breeze. The ship had been built on the Clyde, in Scotland, by the famous Robert Steele, and her sisters had won races. She was fast, lithe, and lovely. As pretty as she was, though, the “Lord of the Isles” was not afraid of hard work.
Their heading now was for the Philippines. Manila. John had seen the charts. Seen the San Bernardino Strait, through which they would begin their approach to the capital city. It was known for its fast currents, its sudden gales and the narrowness of its rocky walls. But he had full confidence in his Master. And he had seen gales before.
Here was the volcano, as he had seen from the maps. He’d seen volcanos, live and dead and those merely sleeping. This was a perfectly conical volcano – Bulusan Volcano – alive and breathing, and it puffed gently on the horizon, growing larger as they rocked their way toward the mouth of the Strait.
They reached the Strait at night and something had changed. The seas had grown blacker and seemingly bottomless, hungry, and skies roiled with clouds.
Typhoon! It was the season. Or perhaps only a bad gale. In any case, he was too busy to think about what the monster was. He heard only the orders snapped out by his Master, as he reached for the yards of heavy, wet canvas. One hand for the ship! One for yourself! He didn’t look down, didn’t think about the empty chasm between his body and the deck of the ship, now so awash with the waves that it was impossible to tell it from the sea itself. He worked. Worked the lines. The sails. Did what he was told. He was nothing more than an extension of his Master’s will.
Then it came. The grinding, sickening sound of heavy oak against the sand and shells. The deadly end of movement. The sails were down but the waves pounded unceasingly against the body of the ship – move! move! But no movement was possible.
The waves beat against her sides, broke her body at the waterline. Finally her belly broke open and she began spilling her load of coal into the waves. All hands below, they desperately fought against the water rushing in, the cargo spilling out.
The ghostly white sliver of the beach was before the men who lowered the lifeboats and somehow made their way to shore. Exhausted.
Morning revealed a battered hulk listing in the sands the cruel waves more quiet now. It was a sorry sight. Her timbers were broken. It was like the death of a lover.
They were on a deserted beach. The palms rustled overhead, the skies were still taupe with storm. But it was over and now there was work to be done. To save themselves. To save the cargo – whatever could be saved.
The men set about removing the coal and other valuables, lifeboat by lifeboat, hand over hand. Then they noticed a small brown man standing on the beach, looking at them. He was a fisherman. A native of the mainland, come to the island for the good fishing in those waters. He had a peculiar type of boat. A dugout canoe with a gracefully arching outrigger. A banca boat.
Hands again, this time speaking, communicating. But the man didn’t need too much of an explanation. It was clear what the men needed. The Master sent two of his most trusted men – his first mate and a companion, along with the fisherman. They would make their way along the coast to Manila, find the British offices, send telegrams to Hong Kong, get help.
The men settled in for the wait. They made shelters for themselves. They stretched out in the sun, ate fish and coconuts and the ship’s stores. A few natives came to see them, bring them provisions. One day a young girl accompanied her father. Her hands, her eyes were lively, so dark and smooth. She gazed at the sailors curiously, not coming close, not smiling. Only carefully setting fruits and yams out of the banca.
Then one day, John saw a puff of steam on the horizon. At first he thought it was the volcano, but it moved steadily across the horizon and then it became a steamship, chugging toward them.
He made his way back to his home. It took a long time and he worked again. But he was used to work. He told his tale in pubs and to family members. He received extra pay from the owners of the ship, Williamson and Milligan, because he was good and his Master had given him special marks.
John married. His new wife was a dark eyed, dark-haired beauty, like the woman on the island.
But she smiled at him.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
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Dear Erica,
Thanks for your e mail.
This has proved quite a challenge, as there are several ships with this name, two of which were trading in the same part of the world.
Ship's No. 51051
Name of Vessel : Lord of the Isles
Master: J F Piper
Year Built: 1864
Built, By & Where: Steele & Co. Greenock.
Length. 175.5
Brdth. 28.7
Dpth. 18.0
In 1877 she was trading between Calcutta, India and New South Wales, Australia and Manilla. Returning to London in October and leaving for Wellington in mid December. Arriving in New Zealand in the Spring of 1878.Through the Summer she traded in this area. On 15th July, a telegram arrived in Liverpool at 2.35pm stating that the Lord of the Isles was a total loss at the South end of the island of Luzon:captain and crew saved.(Left Newcastle,N.S.W.., 20th May for Manilla.)
On the same date as this report it was reported from Hong Kong that she was "totally lost on the island of San Andres, Samar; crew saved. " These two reports appeared in the Lloyd's List 16th July 1878.
In the August 27th edition a report appears from Manilla:12th July. - On the morning of 1 sty July the Lord of the Isles(ship) from Newcastle, N.S.W. to this port, drifted ashore on the northern coast of the island of San Andres, one of the Naranjo group, to the west of the island of Samar. The mate and one of the crew arrived here yesterday in a coasting vessel and a steamer was despatched to the scene of the wreck, where the master and the rest of the crew had remained to save what they could. the last report of this incident appears in the 4th November 1878: Manila, 18th Sept.The Lady of the Isle (ship) from Newcastle, N.S.W., to this port has been floated and sufficiently repaired to enable her to be towed up here, where she arrived on the 7th Sept. bringing 700tons coal more than half her original cargo.
Williamson & Milligan, Liverpool.
1879 sold to J.A.Smith, Liverpool.
1880 Converted to Barque rigging. Liverpool Registration amended.
1882 re-sold to W.P. Coleborn & Co. Liverpool.
1890 Re-sold to A. Liebaut & Co., Nantes, France Code K.N.P.M. re-named PAUL ALBERT .
1898 re-sold to Madam A. Mace, Marseilles, France.
1905 broken up at Havre, France.
I am unable to trace any images of this vessel.
Regards
Graham
Graham Hodson
Assistant Curator
NML
Tel: 0151 478 4424
Fax: 0151 478 4527
www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk
